


'Twas the Night Before Christmas

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Feelstide 2013, Getting Together, M/M, Snuggling, Tony Stark is too sneaky for his own good, cookies for Santa, eggnog is a marvelous thing, feelings are hard, late-night confessions, vague Agents of SHIELD references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint stay up late to wait for Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twas the Night Before Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta, Rurounihime.
> 
> Written for the prompt: Trying to stay up late to see Santa.

Phil almost misses Clint when he passes by the Tower's common area on his way to bed. A tuft of blond hair and socked feet are all he catches out of the corner of his eyes. He steps into the room and spots Clint on the floor, wedged between one of the couches and the fireplace. It's certain that Clint has become aware of his presence even if his behavior hasn't changed. Phil takes care to make some noise regardless; he doesn't want Clint to think he's sneaking up on him.

Clint's facing away, head resting on drawn-up knees, until Phil stops next to him. He uncurls a little and glances up. He's wearing a Tweetie bird T-shirt and purple flannel pajama pants. It's so very Clint. The realization of just how much he's missed Clint slams hard into Phil's chest.

“May I?” Phil's proud that his voice remains steady.

“Sure.” Clint scoots over, leaving enough room that Phil can lean against the side of the couch.

Phil sits down. “Thanks.” He stretches out his legs. “You're up late.”

Clint shrugs. “So are you.”

There's no need to say more than that. They're both familiar with being kept up by a brain that won't shut off or being jostled out of sleep by dreams, which then linger too long. Phil wonders which of the two it is for Clint tonight.

“I was talking to Pepper,” Phil says. She had pulled him aside when everyone was finally dispersing after their Christmas Eve dinner and sat him down to catch up over tea. “She told me some interesting things about Stark and Captain Rogers.”

Clint grins. “Interesting's one word to describe that. There was a betting pool for a while.”

“Who won?”

“Natasha. Obviously.”

Phil smiles. It doesn't surprise him that she won. The whole situation is a little bizarre; not necessarily because Captain America is dating a man—there have always been rumors about him and Barnes—but because it's _Stark_ , and Rogers went after him. A lot has happened since Phil went through his recovery and got assigned to the Bus. Talking to Pepper only underlined that. 

“Do you want some eggnog?” Clint nods at the mug by his feet. “Bruce made it and Natasha spiked it.”

Phil holds out his hand. “Will I die of alcohol poisoning?” 

“Possibly. It's good, though.” 

The eggnog burns down Phil's throat, but it's as good as Clint promised. Warmth fizzes pleasantly through Phil. He hands the mug back to Clint, who takes a sip. They trade the eggnog back and forth, passing the cup between them without a second thought. It reminds Phil of all the other things he's shared with Clint over the years: mugs, bottles, utensils, clothes, beds, sleeping bags, cots. Even a toothbrush on one occasion. Yet all of that closeness had always been restricted to missions, gone once they came back home. Dying changes one's perspective, and Phil is no longer willing to make that kind of sacrifice. He just hasn't figured out how to tell Clint about that.

The alcohol leaves a pleasant buzz behind. Phil closes his eyes. He can feel Clint right next to him, warm and familiar. Something loosens in Phil that has been screwed too tight for a long time. He likes his new team, but they're not Clint and Natasha, and things with Melinda have been difficult since Bahrain. He hadn't realized how much he missed being around people who truly know him. 

“You look tired,” Clint says softly.

Phil opens his eyes. He considers brushing off the remark with a quip, but it's Clint. There's no need for that. “I've been tired for months.”

Clint's fingers curl into the frayed edge of his pajamas. “You like your team?”

Phil nods. “They're good people.”

“Ward's kind of a tight-ass, though.” 

Clint's never gotten along with Ward, in large part because he never hesitated to tell Ward what he thought of his sniper skills. “He's trying.”

“Glad Melinda's there to have your back.”

There's something in Clint's voice that Phil can't place. Concern, maybe. “Me too.”

Clint draws his knees up tighter. “What about that newbie you picked up? Rising Tide chick?”

“Skye.” Phil smiles. “She has potential. Needs a second chance, not unlike other people I've recruited for SHIELD.” 

Clint turns his head to look at the dying fire. “You're good at that.”

“I like to think so.” Phil wants to add that even if he's recruiting new agents, they won't ever replace Clint and Natasha. Phil is certain that he won't ever have that relationship with a team again. But he can't find the words to express all of that. He shifts a little closer to Clint. It's subtle enough to come across as unintentional should it be unwelcome. But Clint returns the gesture, shuffling his foot until it sits snugly against Phil's calf.

“My sister and I always tried to wait up for Santa when we were kids,” Phil says, the words out of his mouth before the memory has fully formed.

Clint's gaze returns to Phil. “Yeah?”

“Every year. We'd devise some elaborate strategy. There was even surveillance equipment involved in later years. Never worked out, of course. We'd fall asleep, or our parents would intervene if it seemed like we could make it through the whole night.” It's a bittersweet memory. Phil wishes he could call Amy to wish her a merry Christmas, but he knows why he can't. Understands why he needs to stay dead to the world at large for a little longer. At least the Avengers were finally notified; it's why Phil is at the Tower for Christmas. There had been threats of severe bodily harm in case he neglected to show up.

“Sounds like fun.” 

It's Clint's way of saying _I know this is something normal people do, but I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about_. “It is,” Phil affirms. “In fact, we should do it. Since we're awake anyway.”

Clint frowns. “Do what?”

“Wait up for Santa to bring our presents.” Phil's proud of getting the entire sentence out with a straight face.

Clint's eyes light up for a second before he gets himself back under control. “Aren't we a little old for that?”

“No.” There are way too many things Clint missed out on as a child. Phil's been able to rectify a few over the years, and it's nice to add another one to the list. He stands up and holds out a hand to Clint. “Come on. We need to get milk and cookies.”

Clint looks dubious but lets Phil drag him along to the kitchen. If Phil holds on to Clint's hand the whole way, well, Clint doesn't exactly protest.

**

“I hope Santa isn't picky.”

Phil studies the three Oreos arranged on a too-large plate. “It's fine.”

The kitchen is filled to the bursting with food, but cookies are strangely absent. They located an open packet of Oreos at the back of a cabinet, the contents of which are now sitting in front of them. Phil ignores that the expiration date was sometime in October.

Clint opens the fridge. “We need some milk, too, right?”

“Yes.” Phil rather enjoys the view when Clint bends over to rifle in the back of a shelf. 

“There's too much stuff in here,” Clint says. “But Thor, you know. And Steve. Aha!” He emerges with a carton of milk.

Phil opens cabinets until he finds a large glass. Clint fills it with flourish, then reaches for another glass and fills it for himself. Phil pretends he doesn't stare when Clint drinks it down in one go. 

Clint lets out a satisfied sigh and licks his lips.

Phil almost drops the plate of cookies. His ears feel rather warm all. “Let's put these under the tree.” He hastens back to the living room, holding on to the plate with both hands.

Clint sets down the milk next to the cookies. The tree is large and beautiful; no doubt this is Pepper's work. They both take a moment to admire it. More often than not, Phil's Christmas celebrations have involved getting shot at, being unconscious, watching over Clint being stitched up, and any number of things that were far from festive. This year is a nice change of pace. They deserve it. 

“So, now we wait?” Clint asks softly.

“Yeah.” Phil walks over to the couch facing the tree. His back hurts from sitting on the floor earlier. He tucks himself into one corner, leaving plenty of space for Clint.

Clint's eyes flit between the other end of the couch and Phil. It's endearing, but also a sad indication of how things are between them. Of course Phil wants Clint to sit next to him; better yet, he wants Clint in his arms. He's certain Clint wants that, too. But they've never allowed themselves to go after what they want.

Time to change that.

“Sit,” Phil whispers. He fans out his fingers on the cushion next to him.

Clint sits down with great deliberation, close enough that his arm brushes Phil's. 

“Clint,” Phil begins. “I've had a lot of time to think. Turns out, dying can change one's perspective on many things, and—” He doesn't get any farther because Clint kisses him.

“Figured I'd save you some time.” Clint ducks his head. “That's where you were going, right?”

Phil laughs. “Yeah, that's—I was hoping that we might end up....there.”

Clint turns toward him. “Wanna end up there some more?”

Phil almost rolls his eyes at the cheesy line, but Clint leans in again. They kiss, soft and slow, and everything else disappears from Phil's brain for a while.

When Clint pulls away with one last press of his lips, they're no longer entirely upright. Clint slides his hand under Phil's and turns it to tangle their fingers together. 

Phil looks down a their entwined hands. “Remember Operation Icarus?”

“Not very fondly. Why?”

Phil doesn't blame Clint. The mission had gone to hell in a handbasket. Clint got taken through no fault of his own, and by the time they'd managed to free him, he'd been pumped full of drugs to render him compliant with something that fortunately never came to pass. “On the transport back, you took my hand. Held onto it the entire flight home.”

“I have some very fuzzy memories of that. I remember you being there, and, wait, did you actually lie down with me? Did that happen?”

Phil cannot keep what is certainly an utterly fond smile off his face. “I did. You weren't doing well. Thought it might help.”

“It did. I always thought that was just my imagination. Wishful thinking, you know.”

It's a very indirect admission, but an admission nonetheless. “Doesn't have to be wishful thinking anymore,” Phil mumbles. He leans back into the corner of the couch and slides down, pulling Clint along. Clint stretches out against him and rests his head on Phil's chest. Feeling Clint's weight against him isn't unfamiliar, but it means something else now. It's not necessity; it's belonging.

Phil feels safe in a way he hasn't in a long time.

**

Despite their best intentions, they fall asleep. The sky is etched with light when Phil wakes up, and there are presents under the tree. The milk and cookies are gone.

Phil nudges Clint. 

“No,” Clint mutters and burrows deeper into Phil's shoulder.

“Santa was here,” Phil whispers.

That gets more of a reaction from Clint. He props himself up on Phil's chest. After scrubbing a hand across his eyes, he scans the area around the tree. “How the fuck did someone get past us?”

It's a valid question considering that they're both trained to wake at the slightest disturbance. Phil realizes that he can't remember what he dreamed about. It's the first time since—since his recovery that he hasn't woken up feeling deeply unsettled. “We may have to implement some security measures the next time we...” Phil doesn't know how to finish the sentence. 

“Sleep together? Um, fall asleep together?”

Phil smiles at Clint's slip of the tongue. “All of that.”

“Yeah?” Clint sounds shy, which is uncharacteristic of him.

Phil slides a hand under Clint's T-shirt. “Definitely.” His phone buzzes in his pocket. “Sorry, can you—” Clint gives Phil room to reach his phone. Phil's relieved to see it's only a text, and not a call alerting him to a new mission. He doesn't recognize the number. 

The text says, _About time_ , and there's a picture attached. It's of him and Clint asleep on the sofa. He has to admit that it's a nice picture even if it makes him feel uncomfortable that someone saw them in such a private moment. He turns the screen so Clint can see the photo.

Clint takes the phone from Phil's hand and studies the picture. “Can you send it to me?” He sounds maudlin.

“Of course.” When Phil hits send, another text appears from the same unknown number. He holds the screen in a way that Clint can read it as well. _Steve almost didn't let me take this picture, but I convinced him with sentimentality. We're also eager to open gifts, so be presentable in ca. 15min_.

“Stark?” Phil asks.

Clint nods. “Are you mad that he took the photo?”

“Mad, no. Feeling exposed? Yes. You?”

“Same.” Clint's fingers nudge under the collar of Phil's shirt. “It'll be nice to have, though.”

The _For when we're apart_ is clearly implied. “Yes.” Phil has no doubt that Clint's going to set the picture as his lock-screen. It doesn't bother him; he'd do the same thing if he could. But he doesn't want to let his team in on this. Not yet, anyway. 

“We should probably work on that making-ourselves-presentable thing,” Clint says, but he doesn't move. “Tony's going to ask JARVIS to wake everyone. He's a little over-eager with the whole holiday thing.”

Phil could stand to change out of yesterday's clothes. That would mean letting go of Clint, however, and that's a thoroughly unappealing option. “Five more minutes.”

Clint pushes himself up to press a soft kiss against Phil's mouth. “I like the way you think.” 

(end.)


End file.
